


Try Again

by samslostshoe



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, So be warned, also this is very angsty, and so i marked the violence warning just in case, and spoilers for seasons 11 and 12, but there's clear indication of mistreatment, okay there's no actual violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1600598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samslostshoe/pseuds/samslostshoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucker reviews the intel he gathered from the Feds' base and finds that it's not what he expected.<br/>--<br/><em>He’s so close to Wash he can almost feel it, the warmth of his breath when they’re arguing, can almost see his freckles and his scars and his dark blond hair. Tucker can almost smell him: a strange, intoxicating mix of sweat and bar soap.</em><br/><em>A </em>ding<em> noise interrupts his thoughts. The intel is ready to be viewed. It’s just one file, a video. Tucker moves the mouse to hover over it. All of the sudden, he has a pit of trepidation growing in his stomach, coalescing and spreading throughout his body, until it feels as though every nerve in his body is strung out, hypersensitive. Waiting. Waiting to know that he can do something right for once.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Try Again

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by these lovelies: [Maiselle](http://kerrythebreakupbang.tumblr.com/), [Sara](http://ergo-existence.tumblr.com/), and [Autumn](http://supercasey.tumblr.com/).

Tucker stares at the progress bar anxiously, tapping his fingers against his helmet, lying on the table next to him. He runs his hands agitatedly through his short hair; he’d cropped it when he began working for the rebels.

He’s waiting for the files that he’d downloaded from the Feds' base to load. The files that he’d jeopardized their mission for. The files which are the reason Rogers and Cunningham are dead.

He hadn’t known Cunningham’s first name was Jason.

_Fuck._

Tucker grits his teeth. He can’t allow himself to think about that disastrous mission. He’ll break down, he knows he will. And right now, he’s got more important things to concentrate on. He’s got people he can still save.

“Sir, are you okay?” Palomo asks from behind him.

Tucker turns and offers him a small, terse smile.

Palomo’s got his helmet off, and he looks nervous, shifting from foot to foot, lanky arms moving erratically as he fidgets. At least Palomo is still here, still alive and well. But he’s so damn young. Tucker turns away quickly, because the longer he looks at Palomo, the more likely he is to focus on his blond hair and his abundance of freckles. The more likely he is to allow himself to imagine that Palomo’s nervous breathing belongs to someone else.

Tucker closes his eyes. He’s drifting into very dangerous territory. He can’t let himself think like that, not when he’s so close. He’s so close to Wash he can almost feel it, the warmth of his breath when they’re arguing, can almost see his freckles and his scars and his dark blond hair. Tucker can almost smell him: a strange, intoxicating mix of sweat and bar soap.

A _ding_ noise interrupts his thoughts. The intel is ready to be viewed. It’s just one file, a video. Tucker moves the mouse to hover over it. All of the sudden, he has a pit of trepidation growing in his stomach, coalescing and spreading throughout his body, until it feels as though every nerve in his body is strung out, hypersensitive. Waiting. Waiting to know that he can do something right for once.

He clicks the file. The video starts up, showing a shaky view of a bare wall. It swings to the side, blurring before it focuses on a figure who’s chained to the wall.

Wash’s chest is bare, and his hair is in disarray. Tucker can’t see his face because his head is hanging forward, neck limp. He’s not hurt, not physically, at least. But he looks thin, much thinner than Tucker’s ever seen him. His body is glistening with sweat, giving his body an unearthly sheen. But it’s still Wash.

Tucker’s heart throbs uncomfortably.

There’s a chuckle from behind the camera. The cameraman, one would probably assume. But Tucker knows better.

_Locus._

A hateful hiss escapes his lips. He doesn’t think that he’s ever hated someone before. Sure, Church is an asshole sometimes, and Sarge can be a pain in the ass, but Locus...Tucker can’t imagine Locus even being human. He doesn’t think it would be possible for him to hate a human this much.

“Washington,” Locus says, voice cool and scathing. “Smile for the camera.”

Wash doesn’t respond. Tucker can’t tell if he is conscious or not.

“Washington,” Locus repeats. When there’s no response, he chuckles again. Tucker hears him pull in a breath before speaking.

“David.”

Wash shifts, shoulders rising defensively.

“Oh, I forgot, you don’t like it when I call you that. Do you, David?” Locus’s voice is full of a dark sort of joy. He loves hurting Wash like this.

Wash raises his head slowly. He looks peaky and malnourished, but his freckles are still visible, stars on a canvas of pale skin. The raised scar on his cheek is glistening silver in the dim lighting. His eyes look odd when he raises them to fix on Locus, slightly to the left. Usually they look firm and kind, but right now they’re so full of rage and hate that they almost seem empty of anything else. If Tucker didn’t know Wash, he’d be terrified.

“Go to hell.” Wash’s voice is cracked, but not broken.

Locus tuts. “Come on now, David. The public can’t see you like that.”

Wash’s eyes spell murder as he says, “They won’t see me like this. No one will. I haven’t seen anyone but you for months.”

“Would you like me to bring one of your little friends in here to join you? Perhaps the pink one? What about the old sergeant?”

“Touch them and I’ll kill you,” Wash spits, teeth bared in an animalistic snarl.

Locus sighs exasperatedly. “David,” he chastises, “I’m trying to tape something here. Can’t you at least act happy? Smile a little for your adoring fans. Smile for your friend Tucker.”

Wash’s eyes go wide in surprise. They flick to the camera, and now the rage has gone, replaced with panic.

“Tucker,” Wash says urgently, eyes earnest and pleading, “Don’t—,”

The footage cuts out, replaced by a black screen with two words.

_Try again._

Tucker stares at the words until the video ends. It feels like something, some tiny part of him, has fallen away. He can’t tell what it is, but it feels almost like all the things that have been swirling around in his mind, all the inhibitions and doubts and fears and confused feelings for Wash, have gone, replaced only by the image of Wash, his eyes filled with urgency and alarm and fear, and those two words. _Try again._

He knows that this is it for him. Every training session, every mission, this will be what drives him. He knows that from now on this is what he will think of with single-minded intensity. _Try again._

These are the words that Cunningham and Rogers gave their lives for. These are the words that will haunt him until the day they’re no longer relevant. Until the day he fails fatally, or until the day he succeeds. _Try again._

A timid voice comes from behind him. Palomo. Tucker had forgotten he was there.

“Um, Captain? Sir?” Palomo asks, voice careful. “What do we do now, sir?”

Tucker breathes in and out evenly, closing his eyes and focusing on the image of Wash’s face. He knows what they have to do.

He turns to Palomo and smiles tightly, making sure that the young lieutenant sees the certainty on his face. And when he speaks, he makes sure that his voice doesn’t shake.

“We try again.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by so many things that I can't list them I swear. This has been cooking in my brain for a while and I just barely got it out before Monday's ep (s12 ep3, that is). Hope you enjoyed. My first tuckington and my first angst in a while.


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